Growing back together
by MagnoliaSterling
Summary: Expanding on the line in Mockingjay, "Peeta and I grow back together." Reviews welcome.


1.

I realized one day that the sight of him was what I needed to keep moving forward. I still wasn't ready to call it love, but I – and everyone around me – took note. I had been dead and he brought me back to life, saving me yet again.

"Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other." I had told him that once, and it was still true even though the thing I needed protection from the most lately was myself. In the days, weeks, months or however long it had been since I returned from the Capitol I had been treading water, moving nowhere. And then he was there and everything started to change.

The next few weeks flew and crawled by all at once. I lost my sense of time somewhere, and I'm willing to blame it on that tick-tock clock from the second arena. After I saw him planting the primrose bushes, I saw Peeta every day. It started when he brought me cheese buns and cookies, then we started working on the tribute book. It started to feel normal, like the time we spent together after the first games when I was recovering from my injured leg and we worked on the plant book.

But this was different, because at that time we were resigned to the fact that we couldn't have anything we wanted, that nothing would ever be completely ours. Then, the Capitol forced us to love, kiss, be together. To be each other's. No decisions we made could be considered our own, and I questioned every feeling I had for him because it might not have been real, fabricated by the Capitol for their own gain. I was determined to fight anything beyond the friendship we were forced into because anything else seemed like a victory for the Capitol, and I would not let it influence any more aspects of my life than it already had. If I were going to love someone, at least that would be solely on my own terms.

One day as Peeta was perfecting his drawing of the Holo on Bogg's entry I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. His eyes weren't cloudy anymore. They were his and only his. In fact, I was sure it had been weeks since I last saw him close his cloudy eyes tightly and waited for him to come back. I wasn't confident enough to think that the hijacking moments would be gone forever, but they were certainly becoming less regular. Now, as I looked at him and saw his eyes meet mine all I could do was smile. He noticed right away and grinned back, and I could feel myself blush.

"That's the first time I've seen you smile since I've been back. Why?" he asked, still grinning himself.

"Because I think I just saw you." He looked at me quizzically. "The old you. The non-hijacked you. The boy with the bread. The one I knew before so many horrible things were forced upon us."

"I've always been here. Just buried. But you helped me find him, and bring him back to the surface."

"How?" I could feel my voice shaking. "All I've done is managed not to completely crumble. Nothing more than that for anyone." It was true. I'd managed the bare minimum, if you define the bare minimum as not dying. That was the only accomplishment I could be sure of since the trial.

"That was enough," he said. "To see you survive. Your affect on me, it's the same as ever. Stronger maybe, if that's possible."

He reached across the table and took my hand in his, and I surprise myself by not jerking it away. We're sitting at that same awful table where that all those months ago President Snow had tried to intimidate me, tried to control me. I never looked at that piece of furniture the same way, and if it weren't so annoyingly practical I'd have used it for firewood by now. But now, with Peeta, my Peeta, holding my hand I erase that memory from my head as best I can and only see him. I hold his hand back and squeeze it so tightly that I wonder if I'm doing any damage, but I don't want to let go. It's the first time he's touched me, or really anyone had touched me, since he'd come back to District 12. We were working on the book after dinner and it's getting late, or so the oncoming darkness tells me. I don't really know how long we've been sitting here, smiling and clinging to each other as though our lives depend on it, but it's so dark now that we can hardly see each other across the table. I'm trying to think of what to say to break the silence, something that expresses exactly how I feel. I fall pathetically short.

"We should light a candle." That was not exactly what I was going for, and I'm reminded again that Peeta's the one with the gift for saying just the right things.

"Should I go home?" he asks. He's never stayed overnight here, though he did start coming over when he heard me scream at night. He hasn't crawled into bed to comfort me like he used to though, he's simply sat in a chair in my room until I wake up, then walks back to his house. I realize now how much that has probably been hurting him, not able to comfort me the way he'd like. He's still trying to take care of me any way he can, any way I'll let him.

"No!" I say it so loud and so quickly that I cover my mouth with my hands, finally dislodging us from one another. I get a horrible picture of Haymitch running over when he heard me and ruining this night. But Haymitch doesn't show up. Instead, Peeta stands and comes around the table, taking my hand again and navigating us to my room. He helps me sit down and turns on a small lamp, then comes to sit down next to me on the bed. I see his blue eyes again, still that perfect bright blue. Even in the poor lighting they're clear and beautiful. He brushes a hair out of my face and his hand lingers on my cheek. I lean in, my heart racing, and our lips meet. We kiss like it's the first time, and in so many ways it is. The first time we haven't been forced together, watched, politicized, held up for someone's master plan or game. The first time it's just us, together, by choice.

We come up for air eventually and lay down, but cling to each other all night. It's the first time I haven't had nightmares since I came back. I know that won't last forever, but one night without screaming is more than I ever imagined would be possible. One night of not being haunted, tortured by all the people I let down, and instead comforted by the one person I inexplicably haven't.

So when I wake up in the morning and see him looking at me, holding me, smiling at me, I smile back.

"Peeta, please stay with me." I don't have to tell him I mean for more than just this morning.

"Always," he replies.

2.

Peeta stayed with me that night, and has every night since. He kept his promise through every nightmare, every hijacking relapse, every laugh, every cry. And there have been a lot of cries.

I don't think I can pinpoint the exact moment when it became love. It was like Finnick told me once about his love for Annie. It snuck up on him. I guess Peeta has been sneaking up on me since the day we first met, or at least the day I first took notice of him, outside of his family's bakery. I didn't have any time for love then, and frankly haven't had much since. But looking back, I'm sure that's when it started. The games and everything since have only solidified it. I'm finally ready to tell him, maybe even ready to show him, that I'm in love. That it's real. I just don't know how to do it. Looking back, he beat me to it, and probably knew I was in love before I did.

It should have been her fifteenth birthday. And of course, he knew. We put it in the book, but I didn't expect him to do anything. He missed her fourteenth birthday, the first once since she died, because he was still in the Capitol. I guess I sort of missed it too, even though I was more than aware of it, because he wasn't with me. I hadn't been brought back to life yet. I observed Prim's fourteenth birthday from a distance, crying, staring at nothingness, and alone. I guess I expected that this one would be the same as last year, maybe minus being alone. That I'd sink into some sad, depressed hole like the closets I used to hid in around District 13 and the Capitol, and come out only when somebody dragged me out screaming. When Peeta dragged me out. But I should have known better.

Instead, he's not there when I wake up. He hasn't gone far though, as I smell the perfect aroma of baking bread wafting from the kitchen to my bedroom. When I finally move to get out of bed he's there next to me, rushing upstairs apparently at the slight sound of my creaking bed. He puts his arms around me before I'm even upright.

"Good morning. I'm sorry I left, but it's all worked out. The whole day is planned. That is, if you'll let me be with you today." He says all this while looking at me with those perfect clear eyes and holding me tightly.

"I… I don't… It's her…" I stumble and trail off, feeling the tears coming on already. Not a promising sign for the first few minutes of being awake.

"I know," he says. "That's why I made all the plans. Because I know she'd have felt the same way I would. That you should be happy and remember loving her, not wallow in missing her."

I'm about to pout, scream, cry, or maybe all three. But I know he's right. He's always had a way with words, know what to say and how to say them, convincing people to do things they never thought they were capable of otherwise. So on what should have been Prim's fifteenth birthday, I get up. Get out of bed. Live. Peeta tells me to dress for the woods and I listen to him, trusting wherever he's going to lead me.

By mid morning we're crossing the fence. I have my bow and my father's jacket on, but I don't anticipate much hunting today. I can't bear to head into the woods without them though, just in case dinner decides to trot by. Peeta's leading the way with a pack full of who knows what. For a minute I think we're running away forever, but I realize he'd never let me go without forcing me to say goodbye to Haymitch. I follow Peeta, holding his hand, thinking about how he still scares all the game off. I'm still in a bit of a haze, but feel myself smiling when I think of his loud steps. When I start paying more attention, my smile knocking me out of my haze, I realize where we're headed. There's only one problem: Peeta shouldn't know about this place.

"You figured it out, haven't you?" he says.

"How do you know about the lake? And how to get there?" I ask.

"You wrote about it in the book. Under your father's entry. You know I've read every word you wrote." He looks back at me, smiles, and proceeds to stumble on a tree root. I can't help but giggle as I see him literally falling over himself to cheer me up. I can't bear to let him down.

When we arrive at the lake, he unpacks everything he brought. A blanket, freshly baked bread and some other picnic food, cookies iced with perfect primroses. And petals that I recognize from the bushes he planted. Not hundreds, just a handful.

"Fifteen," I say aloud. He nods, much more serious than just a few minutes ago. He takes my hand and leads me to the lake. Prim was born in late May, and the weather is absolutely perfect. We get to the edge of the lake and he starts scattering the petals across the water. A tear starts to roll down my cheek, and he offers me the last petal. I realize this is as close as I've ever come to a funeral for someone I love. My father had a ceremony brought to my family by the people that condemned him. Prim and Rue got even less than that. So I take the last petal in my hand, take a deep breath of its aroma, kiss it, and throw it across the water. It floats there, bobbing on the surface as the wind brushes the water to create tiny waves. Everything is so beautiful, pure, and simple. I think back on Peeta's words, that Prim would have wanted me to remember how much we loved each other and all the good things we had, not to focus on what was taken away. After some time I turn away from the petal and head back to the blanket, Peeta following close behind.

"I hope you're not mad," he says. "I just couldn't let it be another day. It was too important."

I can't disagree. "I'm not mad." Shockingly I'm really not. And while I miss her, I'm not consumed by the crushing sadness that usually comes when I think about her either. I know that has everything to do with the person sitting next to me. "Not at all. You're right, it's not a normal day. It's so easy to think about all she had in front of her and how it was all taken away. I miss her so much everyday, and have this guilt that I get to live while she doesn't."

"I know you miss her, of course you do. I think how you feel is normal, though. You should want the people you love the most to go on no matter what, even at your expense. And when you go on instead of them, to miss them so badly it hurts."

"I missed you that much too. When I was in 13 and the Capitol had you. I missed you and couldn't think about my life without you. That's why it was so easy to decide to die. Because the thought of going on without you alive would have killed me anyway. And I know that without you here, being without Prim would have killed me by now too. In most ways it already did once. I was dead before you came back to me." I've never talked to him like this before. I've never been this honest with anyone in my entire life, other than Prim when she coaxed it out of me. Every word is true.

He leans in to kiss me. It almost feels wrong, to be so happy to have him here on a day I had planned on spending so depressed. But I kiss him back. It's the kind of kiss I haven't felt since the beach, the kind that creates a fire in me, a hunger I can't stop. We lay there together on the blanket kissing, touching, loving each other. When he asks if he should stop I say no, and kiss him harder. It turns out to be a day of firsts for both of us – our first trip to the lake together, the first time I've been so honest, and now this. I love every minute of it. I love being so close to him, sharing our scared bodies with each other. He's commanding and gentle at the same time, and makes me feel things, both physically and emotionally, that I've never felt before. It's as perfect as he is.

When it's done we lay in the sun, still clinging to each other. I sit up eventually and brush a curl out of his eyes. He looks at me with those clear, perfect eyes and his kind smile, and says, "You love me. Real or not real?"

I answer, without hesitation, "Real."


End file.
